


Worth a Thousand Words

by Evening_Bat



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evening_Bat/pseuds/Evening_Bat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Responses to various picture prompts on jim_and_bones.  Pairing is consistent.  Everything else is likely to change.  Each chapter is a complete prompt response.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On With The Show

**Clownish Pictures:**

"I hate this planet," McCoy grumbled to himself as he slunk out of the claustrophobic heat of the diplomatic-dinner-turned-rave. If he’d wanted to play dress up and fight his way across a dance floor, he'd have let Jim drag him out clubbing on their last shore leave.

He leaned against the wall, gratefully sucking in lungfuls of cool air. He rubbed a hand over his his face and grimaced at the slippery feeling of thick face paint under his fingers. 

"Oh wonderful," he muttered, eyeing the smears of white and black streaking his hand. Of course he'd forgotten about the culturally significant and “absolutely utterly necessary so stop complaining, Bones!” makeover inflicted on everyone lucky enough to be invited (read: ordered) to attend this damn banquet. He huffed an irritable sigh and scraped his hand against the rough wall to clean it. “Wouldn’t want to mess this outfit up, now would I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jim’s voice commented from behind him. “I think it has its own appeal.”

McCoy snorted and scowled at him. “You would,” he snapped. Though it did cheer him a bit that Jim’s good looks weren’t quite sufficient to carry off the mismatched, ill-fitting clothing they’d been issued for the evening. Apparently garish orange was beyond the limits of even Jim’s unholy charisma. Not that Jim minded, the smug bastard.

“At least they didn’t slather you with this greasepaint crap,” McCoy bitched.

“Being the captain has its benefits,” Jim agreed cheerfully, closing the distance between them in a loose-limbed saunter that gave McCoy yet another reason to hate the ugly outfits they’d been stuffed into for the night.

McCoy ignored his reaction to the sight and pinned Jim with a glare. “Yeah, well you keep those benefits the hell away from me.”

Jim may have escaped face paint by virtue of his rank but they’d dusted his hands with some kind of glittery crap. McCoy had stuck around to make sure it was safe but he’d made himself scarce when the natives started cooing at Jim about showing the marks of his favour. Unsurprisingly, Jim’s jacket was liberally covered with various sparkling streaks of colour.

Jim caught the look and grinned. “Making friendly with the natives,” he remarked.

“Just like you’re supposed to,” McCoy conceded. He’d long had to reconcile his possessive streak where Jim was concerned. Between Jim’s sociable nature and Starfleet’s tendency to whore out its handsome young captain, there was no room for fits of jealousy.

Jim’s smile softened and he stepped deep into McCoy’s personal space, halting barely a breath away. “Rather make friendly with you,” he confided, voice dropping to a heated murmur.

“Dammit, Jim,” McCoy managed to get out, tensing despite himself as Jim lifted his hands between them.

Jim just laughed breathily at the token protest, evidently fascinated by the way McCoy’s muscles twitched under the light touch of his fingers.

McCoy let his head drop back against the wall, too close to see the trails of gold Jim was tracing along his chest and arms. He didn’t need to see them, he could _feel_ every inch.

Jim leaned in as his fingers slid over McCoy’s shoulders. “They may have left marks on me,” he whispered into McCoy’s ear, “but you’re the only one wearing my touch.”

McCoy’s breath hitched and he shifted abruptly in Jim’s loose grip, splaying one hand across Jim’s lower back as he hooked the other around Jim’s neck and dragged him into a kiss.

“Is that so?” he drawled when they broke apart. “Guess I’ll have to see what I can do to even things up.”

Jim groaned enthusiastic approval as McCoy lowered his mouth to Jim’s neck, intent on leaving a few marks of his own.


	2. All The Trails Lead You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cowboy Pics

It wasn’t that he hadn’t already been planning to call Finnegan out. Jim had chased reports of him across three counties, there was no question that he’d have just walked away. Besides, mediocre bounty notwithstanding, Finnegan was a ham-handed thug and knocking him down a few pegs would be a pleasure in and of itself.

Still, Jim thought dazedly as one of those heavy fists broke his nose and knocked him reeling, this wasn’t exactly the neat capture he’d planned. Another blow sent him to his knees and he threw himself backwards as Finnegan tried to stamp on his hands.

The loud crack of a gunshot froze both of them in their tracks, attention swivelling immediately to the rumpled looking man standing just outside of the bar from which Jim and Finnegan had recently emerged. One of the bar’s patrons, Jim remembered, sitting in a tight-shouldered hunch at the bar as he drank his way through a bottle of spirits.

“That’s enough!” the man barked, rifle already lowered from the warning shot he’d granted them, now tucked firmly against his shoulder and pointed steadily at Finnegan’s chest.

Jim was never one to miss an opportunity and he hastily put a safe distance between himself and Finnegan, half-raising his hands in a placating gesture when hazel eyes flicked briefly over him. He didn’t like losing a fight but he was momentarily grateful for the blood dripping from his nose. He’d play the victim if it meant keeping that rifle trained away from him.

Finnegan showed no such restraint. “This ain’t none of your business. Suggest you stay out of it,” he sneered.

“You don’t know shit about my business,” the man with the rifle replied flatly. “And I don’t give a shit about yours. Back off. _Now_.”

Finnegan’s bluster quickly wilted under the man’s unwavering aim.

That earned Finnegan a scornful snort but Jim’s rescuer seemed equally annoyed by the older man who strolled almost leisurely into view from around the corner.

“‘Bout time you got here,” he grumbled.

“Why should I hurry when I’ve got fine, upstanding citizens like yourself helping me to keep the peace?” the older man replied dryly. “You looking for a star of your own, McCoy?”

The stream of invective that followed that question seemed to indicate otherwise.

“-just do your damned job so I can keep this idiot from bleeding all over the street, would you?”

_That_ snapped Jim out of the comfortable haze in which he’d been observing and he flinched automatically from the broad hands that reached towards his aching face.

McCoy rolled his eyes as he crouched down beside Jim. “You want to hold still and let me fix that nose before it heals crooked and messes up your pretty face?” 

“You’re pretty good looking yourself but I don’t see why that means I ought to let you anywhere near me or my nose,” Jim replied pleasantly, smiling tightly at him. 

“Because I’m about the only decent doctor ‘round here - certainly the only one who’ll set that without charging half the bounty you’re going to claim on that ape. That enough reason for you?”

Jim blinked at him, taken aback. Drinker, gunslinger and now a doctor? Who the hell was this McCoy anyhow?

“Sure, that’ll do,” he replied, bracing himself.

McCoy’s touch was surprisingly light, a startling contrast to his harsh tone. “Won’t take but a second,” he assured Jim as he settled his thumbs to either side of Jim’s nose. “Just let me-”

Jim howled as his nose exploded with pain.

“Thanks for that,” he bit out, barely resisting the urge to cup his hands protectively over his face.

“You’re the one that walked into a fist,” McCoy retorted unsympathetically. “Maybe this’ll teach you to _duck_ next time.”

“Bounty?” the sheriff inquired pointedly.

Jim glanced over and found them man watching them with open curiosity, Finnegan well in hand.

McCoy grunted an acknowledgement. “He’s on your wall, Pike. And he was after the girls inside.”

“Throw him in a cell, Sheriff! He’s a pig,” announced the lovely redhead standing in the doorway to the bar. Finnegan’s pawing at her had been what prompted Jim’s rushed attempt to bring him in.

“Though you should have waited until he’d had another drink or three,” she added in a loudly whispered aside to Jim. “When he gets like that, he can’t even walk straight, much less hit what he’s aiming for.”

Jim grinned ruefully and tipped her a casual salute. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

She flashed him a bright, flirtatious smile and flounced back into the bar. McCoy turned his back and followed her inside without another word, to Jim’s mild surprise. He’d half expected the man to linger and spread his bad temper around a bit more.

“Come on, kid,” Pike said, casually driving an elbow into Finnegan’s gut as the man belatedly began to struggle. “We’ll get you sorted along with this one.”

Jim brightened, scrambling to his feet and trailing the man to the local jail.

It was only after he’d collected his money that he ambled back to the bar. He wasn’t in any particular hurry to rush off to the tiny rooms of the hotel he’d inspected earlier in the day and he had enough in his pockets to treat himself for a good day’s work done. The redhead was still there when he slipped inside, he was pleased to see. So was McCoy, though the good doctor appeared far the worse for wear this time, slumped into his folded arms on the surface of the bar.

“If you were wanting to talk to him, you’ll have to wait. He’s in no fit state to talk right now,” the girl remarked sadly as she brought Jim a drink.

“Too bad,” Jim said. “I was hoping to talk to him about splitting the bounty.”

“Oh, he won’t take anything,” she replied.

Jim gave her a skeptical look. “He’s entitled.”

“He won’t!” she insisted. “And you won’t be making a friend of him if you push that.”

“I’m not interested in making friends. I want to settle the debt,” Jim replied firmly.

She considered for a moment. “If you think you owe him something, then see him home,” she finally said. “He took care of you this afternoon, you can take care of him tonight.”

“Sounds fair enough,” Jim allowed. “For now. Though I’m not sure he’ll thank you for handing him off to a stranger,” he teased.

“Ah, but you’ve proven yourself to be a good man so I know he’s in safe hands,” she returned, eyes sparkling as she leaned forward and dropped a delicate kiss on the tip of Jim’s still-throbbing nose.

Jim shocked himself by _blushing_. “I suppose now I’ll have to be,” he conceded after clearing his throat. “So where am I taking him?”

Fortunately, McCoy’s residence was nearby. The man was a mess, had nearly drunk himself into a stupor while Jim had been busy with Pike. Jim slung one of McCoy’s arms over his shoulder, wrapped his own arm around the man’s waist and was still bearing most of McCoy’s weight as they staggered down the dusty streets. With some prodding, McCoy roused enough to help with getting into his house and then Jim settled for dragging him into the bedroom and dropping him onto the thin mattress. Jim sighed as he looked down at the snoring heap McCoy had become. He’d stick around ‘till morning, he decided. The least he could do was make sure that McCoy made it through the night and get him dried out tomorrow.

He almost regretted the decision when he confirmed that McCoy suffered hangovers every bit at gracefully as Jim had expected. Which was to say, _not at all_.

But damn it, he _owed_ the man and Gaila at the bar had been right after all. McCoy grumbled and bitched and wouldn’t hear of taking any of Finnegan’s bounty. Repeated questions just made him uncomfortable and pricklier than ever. Jim finally threw up his hands and stomped off to the boarding house. He’d stick around town for a few days, he decided, and find _some_ way to repay McCoy.

At least, that was the plan.

Two days later, Harry Mudd came into town, selling his latest brand of snake oil and Jim _gleefully_ dragged the notorious con man off to Pike. The following week, he caught sight of Tristan Adams and wasted no time hauling the disgraced doctor in to answer for his crimes. Not long after, he helped the town fend off the attacks of a roving band of bandits.

“And here I thought this place would be boring!” he exclaimed to McCoy one afternoon as the doctor tended to a graze he’d suffered in pursuit of another bounty.

“It _was_ nicely uneventful before you showed up,” McCoy complained as he finished cleaning the wound.

“Then I’m glad I could bring some life to the place, Bones!” Jim declared, slinging his good arm around McCoy’s neck.

He still hadn’t quite repaid the man for breaking up that fight on the day they first met. But he’d cheerfully forced himself into McCoy’s life, deciding that if he just managed to lighten the man’s habitually gloomy mood, he could call it even. So he gave him a nickname inspired by the injury that had practically introduced them, kept him company, kept him fed and watered, and forced him out of his self-imposed isolation. It caught Jim by surprise when one of the nights they spent crawling into a bottle together ended with them tangled up together on McCoy’s mattress but he wasn’t complaining. McCoy seemed pleased enough with the turn of events - Jim knew enough know to understand that he could ignore most of McCoy’s grumbling, since it rarely reflected the affections that ran deep underneath. Life hadn’t been especially kind to either of them but their rough edges fit together startlingly well. And if Jim had stopped looking for justification to leave months ago, well, he didn’t think McCoy minded.

He still hadn’t expected Pike to corner him about it.

“You know, McCoy thinks you need someone to take care of you,” he remarked one day, appearing suddenly at Jim’s elbow.

Jim valiantly pretended that he hadn’t jumped nearly a foot in surprise. “Me? I need someone to take care of _me_? I’m sorry, have you _met_ Bones?”

Pike snorted. “I think you both need keepers.”

“Hey!”

“But I think maybe you’ve already found them,” he continued, catching and holding Jim’s eyes with a long, serious stare.

Jim tensed, caught on the edge of a decision he’d been trying to avoid. None of this had featured anywhere in _any_ of his plans.

“How about it, kid?” Pike asked, turning one hand over to display a silver star. “Want to make it official? Paying off the bounties you bring in is driving the county bankrupt.”

“You’re offering me a job?” Jim asked, totally astonished.

Pike shrugged. “You could do a hell of a lot of good if you were doing it full time and had the authority to back it up.”

“There’s a lot of people back home who’d laugh in your face at the idea of me as a lawman,” Jim commented, mind whirling. 

Pike just smiled. “Kid, we both know that ‘home’ is here.”

Jim swallowed hard and plucked the star out of Pike’s hand, smiling wide enough that it hurt. “Yeah, you’re right. It is.”

He couldn’t wait to tell Bones. If the doctor had thought Jim made his life exciting _before_ he claimed a real stake in it, he hadn’t seen _anything_ yet.


	3. Q & A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Convention Pics
> 
> (Please to not be expecting anything _remotely_ like realism here. Ridiculous self-indulgent AU ahoy!)

There were days when Leonard McCoy marvelled at how damn lucky he’d been. His messy divorce had wiped him out, personally and professionally. He’d lost everything, including the temper and the pride that would normally have caused him to refuse a university friend’s sympathetic invitation to come stay with him while he licked his wounds. Geoff had been patient for a while, had let Len self-medicate himself into a drunken stupor more days than not. Then he’d declared that if Len was going to make free with his home, he could make himself useful.

“How would you like to help me design a few alien species?” he’d asked.

All of Len’s incredulous protests that he was a doctor, not an expert in imaginary biology went ignored and Geoff happily dragged him into the project. That was how he found out that Geoff had made some _very strange_ professional contacts after graduation and eventually led to Len getting a new job as a creative consultant in some crazy video game. It wasn’t anything that Len had ever imagined himself doing but it provided a paycheque and it wasn’t as if he had anything _else_ to work on. Cobbling together some weird-looking aliens was as good a distraction as any - and turned out to be surprisingly fun. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d been drawn into the design process until the day he got into a screaming match with one of the junior writers.

“Look, just design the critters to our specs! We’re telling you what they need to-”

“How stupid are you? That isn’t how the damn species works!” McCoy ranted, flinging up his hands in digust.

“They work however we tell you they work!”

“Okay, fine! New question. How stupid do you think your _players_ are? You’re contradicting yourselves in about six different places! And all you have to do to fix the damn problem is have the main character get jumped by a bunch of the scavengers instead of have him trip over the high level warrior types when they’re on a whole other world!”

Instead of a termination notice, the argument earned a round of applause and Len netted himself a promotion to senior consultant and ended up on the writing team. After the game turned out to be a huge success, the single game spawned a sprawling franchise and Len was swept into the sequels before he’d quite figured out what had happened. 

So yeah. On good days, Len recognized that he’d been absurdly lucky, despite the mulishness which should have destroyed his entire life instead of just his marriage.

...Then there were days like today, when Len was just baffled by the question of _how the FUCK did this become my life?_

He leaned over in his chair as people shuffled around the microphone in the crowd. “Why the _hell_ did I let you talk me into this? And what moron thought that I was the right person to sit on a _convention panel_ , for Christ’s sake?” he hissed to Geoff.

“Christine pulled out because of that problem with her fiance. We needed the warm body and you know it,” Geoff shot back. “And a lot of the fans want to talk to you. Now, if we could just get you to smile instead of looking like you want to bite someone...”

Len bared his teeth in something that bore little resemblance to a smile.

“Not a bad try but we’ll work on it,” Geoff assured him, visibly restraining laughter.

“Oh wow! It looks like we have a really special question for our panel!” the amplified voice of the panel attendant boomed over the chatter of the crowd.

Len bit back a sigh and turned back to see what was going on, wondering what fresh hell the fans were about to sling their way. It took a minute to spot what all the excitement was about and Len was hard-pressed to cover his reaction when he recognized the man accepting the mic.

What the hell was _Jim Kirk_ doing here?

“Hey guys!” he greeted them cheerfully. “Sorry to crash your panel - I know it’s all about the game side of things. But I’ve played all the games - Awesome, by the way! Can’t wait for the next one! - and I had a question for you. And I’m kind of hoping you can settle an argument I’m having with Spock.”

“Go ahead,” Geoff said pleasantly. “If we can help clear things up on the movie side, we’d be happy to help.”

“Great - thanks!” Kirk flashed his trademark smile. “I was wondering about the end of the sequel, where both protagonists are working together. It’s not just for the sake of convenience, is it? I mean, I know it’s all to save the galaxy and such but it always seemed to me that there was more to it than military pragmatism. I thought it was friendlier than that.”

“It’s not that they’re friends,” Len startled himself by answering but then this was a question he’d pondered long and hard while working on the script. “They’re not, really. But they respect each other. And they learn to trust the other to have their backs. And for men like that, respect and trust are more significant than friendship.”

“Huh,” Kirk replied thoughtfully. Len didn’t think he was imagining the weight of that famous blue stare as Kirk considered his words. “Thanks. That’s actually really helpful. And I should probably turn this back over to the fans!” he added, handing the mic back and treating the room to another blast of his charisma as he made his exit.

* * *

Since Kirk had seen fit to drop in on a game panel, Len figured that returning the favour was only fair play. He was more circumspect than Kirk had been - no difficult feat - when he slipped into the panel featuring actors from the upcoming movie adaptation. Len was neither as distinctive nor as fond of adoration as Kirk was so he was able to weave his way through the convention crowds without attracting any undue attention. The attendees of this panel were a very different mix of people than the group who’d attended the writing panel, which came as no great surprise.

Generally speaking, the people who took the time to sit in on Q & A sessions with the design and production staff tended to be the more serious fans. They had their share of crazies, of course, but they were pretty dedicated to the franchise. The much larger crowd of squealing fans who’d descended on the movie panel were another story altogether. From the breathless questions being directed at the panel, it seemed pretty clear to Len that most of the people here were a hell of a lot more interested in the actors than in the movie they were here to promote. He scowled to himself. None of this was doing anything to change his conviction that there were no good video game movies.

There were a handful of famous faces sitting on the panel but Jim Kirk was clearly the centrepiece - and loving every second. He joked, he flirted, he effortlessly charmed the entire crowd. He had the girls giggling and blushing and the guys grinning like they were old friends. Len had to admit, if grudgingly, that Kirk seemed to be genuinely committed to the movie, speaking with enthusiasm about his role. Then again, he’d be a pretty piss-poor actor if he couldn’t fake sincerity on demand.

Len had taken his obscurity for granted so he was badly startled when Kirk’s eyes landed on him during a pause between questions. Surprise flashed briefly across his face before warming into a pleased smile. Caught off guard, Len nodded awkwardly in response and fled as soon as the next bubbly teenager started speaking into the mic.

* * *

Len had gratefully retreated to his hotel room as soon as he’d been released from his convention duties. He wasn’t sociable at the best of times and had _no_ desire to mingle with a few hundred plus starstruck strangers. He appreciated that appearances at such events were all part of the massive effort to get the fans engaged but sweet-talking people had never been his forte. He’d done his part by fielding the questions with which he’d been peppered all day long. His evening plans consisted of room service, a bottle of bourbon and whatever television program annoyed him the least. Distracted by the catalogue of available programming, he didn’t think twice about answering the knock on his door.

Instead of the steak he’d ordered, he found Jim Kirk in hallway.

Len blinked at him. “You’re not room service,” he said stupidly.

“Not the last time I checked,” Kirk answered brightly. “Does that mean I can’t come in?” he prompted after Len failed to do anything beyond staring blankly at him.

Southern manners kicked in before common sense, prompting Len to step back and gesture Kirk inside before he actually registered the question. He bit back a curse as Kirk swept past him, closing the door behind the _movie star_ that apparently had nothing better to do than visit a cranky writer.

_How is this my life? Really - how?_ Len wondered as he followed Kirk into the room, claiming the chair opposite from the one into which Kirk had decoratively sprawled.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Kirk?” he asked. He tried to keep it from sounding too much like _what the hell do you want?_ but didn’t think he’d been terribly successful, if the bemused smile on Kirk’s face was any sign.

“Jim,” the man insisted. 

“Okay, Jim,” Len agreed. “Now what do you want?”

_So much for trying to play nice,_ Len sighed internally. Oh well. It would probably do Kirk - _Jim_ \- some good to deal with someone who didn’t fawn all over him.

“I was kind of hoping you might be willing to talk a bit more about the question I asked earlier,” Jim confessed, with what he clearly thought was an endearing grin. 

“What?” Len blurted. Okay, so that was a bit less articulate a response than he’d intended but damn it, the kid’s eyes really _were_ as blue as everyone said they were. “Why?”

“Well, Len - Len?” he checked, waiting for Len’s impatient nod, “I told you I played all the games. I really do think they’re great. And sure, the movie’s going to be a huge blockbuster no matter _what_ we do but I still want to do a good job with it.”

Len eyed him suspiciously. “You’re so keen to be the best space marine you can be that you’d ditch one of the biggest fan events of the year to come chat with _me_?”

“The execs are going to kill me,” Jim admitted cheerfully. “But the other guys will cover for me. And it’ll all be worth it if I can prove Spock wrong about the fact that the only reason our characters worked together was because “it was the only logical solution.’”

“Jesus,” Len sighed explosively. “Are you here to improve your performance or piss off your co-star?”

“Pick whichever reason you like better,” Jim answered, with another blinding smile. “Besides, I’m pretty sure any conversation with you is going to be more interesting than about 98% of anything being discussed downstairs.”

“Given the kind of things I heard during that panel today? That’s not saying a whole lot for my conversational skills, Jim,” Len replied dryly.

“Too true!” Jim laughed and Len firmly told himself to ignore the rush of nervous arousal that followed. His life had taken a few surreal turns but there was _no way_ that Jim Kirk had actually dropped in to visit and chat him up. Things like that didn't happen outside of those stupid movies Jim was always acting in.

“So come on, Len!” Jim coaxed. “Save me from the fans. And maybe you can even help me...get a feel for the character?”

Len raised an eyebrow at the blatant flirtation. Okay, so maybe this _was_ really happening. “Do those lines really get you anything you want?” he wondered.

Jim smiled lazily and Len flushed at the openly appreciative look Jim ran over him. “Oh, Len. They get me _everything_ I want.”


	4. Incentive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pics of guys in jeans

“Bones!” Jim shouted as soon as McCoy opened the door to their dorm room. “You’ve been holding out on me!”

McCoy halted mid-step, scowling suspiciously at Jim.

Jim supposed the fiendish grin might be a warning sign. This didn’t stop him from letting the expression widen until it showed teeth.

“What the hell,” McCoy asked flatly, resuming his progress. He shut the door behind him, kicking off his shoes before cautiously edging his way into the room.

“Bones, Bones, Bones,” Jim sighed, shaking his head sadly. “Just look at you.”

Actually, for someone who’d sat through a day of classes and then went on to complete a full shift at the infirmary, McCoy looked pretty good. His scrubs were even clean, if a bit rumpled. Which was good since McCoy was always easier to persuade on days when he didn’t come home wearing vomit.

“I look the same as I always do,” McCoy growled.

Jim pointed at him. “See, that is _exactly_ my point. You look the same as usual. When instead, you could look like _this_."

And then he lifted his PADD and flipped it around so McCoy could see the picture Jim had been looking at. Jim had never truly appreciated the appeal of a well-worn pair of jeans until he’d seen a younger McCoy slouching in faded, torn denim.

“Dammit, Jim!” McCoy shouted, flushing immediately. “Where the hell did you find that?”

Jim tsked at him. “You have to be more careful,” he chided mockingly. “You never know what will end up on the ‘net these days.”

McCoy lunged forward, clearly intent on ripping the PADD out of Jim’s hands. Jim cackled and squirmed out of reach, evading McCoy’s flailing with ease. Playing keepaway was good for a few minutes of fun but Jim had bigger plans. He waited for the right moment, then ducked under McCoy’s defenses and tripped them both to the floor. McCoy cursed but had never been a match for Jim in hand to hand.

“Goddammit,” McCoy sighed in deep irritation as Jim pinned him. “The hell do you want?”

Jim chuckled, low and dirty. “I want to know what it’d take to get you into an outfit like that.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow, impressively disdainful for someone who was flat on their back. “Do I look like I’m interested in playing dress up?”

“You’re never interested in having any fun,” Jim replied. He adjusted his position atop McCoy, lightly grinding their bodies together. “I’m hoping to convince you otherwise.”

McCoy swallowed, eyes darkening. “If you’re serious, I suggest you start by giving me a damn good reason to get out of _these_ clothes,” he said, hands settling on Jim’s hips.

“Good point,” Jim acknowledged, already reaching for McCoy’s shirt.

The fatal flaw in Jim’s plan didn’t occur to him until after he had McCoy stripped and gasping under him. Now that he had McCoy naked, he was in no hurry to put clothes back on him. Oh well, he thought at he leaned down to continue kissing him senseless. He could adapt his plans to compensate. He was flexible like that.


	5. Rainy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pic of Chris Pine, a couch, and a football

“Bones.”

McCoy ignored the call of his name.

“Boooooooones...”

He ground his teeth as Jim persisted, repeating his name in the obnoxious sing-song that never failed to provoke a response.

“Oh, _Booooooooones_...”

McCoy’s patience snapped. “WHAT.”

“I’m _bored_ ,” Jim informed him brightly.

“No, Jim. Really? I hadn’t noticed,” McCoy snapped, without looking up from the stack of PADDs on his desk. “Why don’t you fuck off and find some way to entertain yourself?”

There was a moment of blessed silence.

“That wasn’t very nice, Bones,” Jim said, hurt lurking just underneath the even tone.

_Aw hell,_ McCoy muttered internally, guilt coiling uncomfortably in his belly. Jim was being an annoying little prick but he didn’t deserve the sharp side of McCoy’s temper.

“All right, it wasn’t. Sorry,” he admitted gruffly, forcing himself to swivel in his chair and meet Jim’s eyes. He forced himself not to react to the sight of Jim sprawled comfortably across his couch in a soft t-shirt and worn jeans. Not even the boots propped up on the arm of the couch were enough to detract from the appeal.

He cursed himself for falling for Jim’s tricks yet again when Jim just flashed him a wide, brilliant smile. “No worries! You can make it up to me by _being less boring_. Right now.”

“I’ve got work to do,” he started to protest, gesturing half-heartedly to the desk.

“Oh, bullshit,” Jim promptly retorted. “You’re caught up on everything and you’ve got the same three days off the rest of us do. You’re not even expected in for clinic duty until Tuesday.”

Which was true, unfortunately. Trust Starfleet to leave him with fuck all to do right when he really _wanted_ to keep busy.

“Look, Jim,” he sighed. “I’m not going to make for great company today, okay? Why don’t you go find some of your buddies to hang out with? Thought you had plans this afternoon, anyhow?”

Jim shrugged. “Game called on account of weather,” he explained, with a pointed toss of the ball he’d been toying with since he wandered into the room. “And everyone’s found something else to do by now.”

McCoy nodded absently. The weather had been first strike against the day. Grey and chilly, the kind of cold that crept under your skin and left you sluggish. “The drizzle wouldn’t be any good to play in,” he managed.

Jim sat up and peered at him in exaggerated concern. “What, no ranting about stupid cadets breaking themselves on their days off? No frothing about keeping out of the ‘freezing weather’ and maybe not sliding ourselves right into the infirmary?”

McCoy felt a faint smile tugging at his lips but it faded quickly. “Don’t really have the energy to spare,” he replied honestly.

That made Jim frown at him, brows furrowing as he looked more closely.

“You really want me to go?” he offered and McCoy knew he meant it. If he told Jim to take off, he’d be on his way without further complaint.

For a moment, he considered it. He probably should tell Jim to leave him be. He knew himself well enough to know that this pervasive mood wasn’t going to make him anything approaching pleasant company. But the room had been so empty when he woke up this morning, and McCoy was tired of being alone. And he knew Jim well enough to know that if he wanted to be anywhere else, he’d have left already.

“No,” he finally answered. “You can stick around. Just...don’t expect much, all right?”

“Yeah, all right, Bones,” Jim agreed softly, lying back down on the couch.

McCoy stared at him for a moment, then turned back to schoolwork. Hopefully, forcing his mind through the hoops of academia would help him shake the clinging sadness that had followed him through the day. It was as good a distraction as any, in any case, even allowing him to ignore the sound of Jim idly tossing the ball behind him.

At least, it was working until Jim dropped the damn ball.

“Jim!” McCoy barked, doubly annoyed because he’d smacked his knee against the side of the desk when he’d twisted around to glare at him.

“Sorry, sorry!” Jim hastily apologized as he scrambled off the couch to retrieve the ball. “I won’t do it again. Being quiet now!”

McCoy glared at him until he settled meekly back on the couch.

The second time the ball hit the ground, McCoy was out of the chair and scooping it up before Jim managed to get to his feet.

“Goddamnit, Jim!” McCoy growled. “Don’t make me regret letting you stay!”

Jim ducked his head, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, Bones.”

McCoy scowled at him, walking over to the couch and waving the ball at him. “I know we’re students but I thought we were beyond preschool. Do I have to take your toy away until you learn how to behave properly?”

Jim’s smile widened into a smirk. “You take my toy away, I’ll just have to find another one,” he challenged.

“Oh yeah?” McCoy shot back without thinking. “Like what?”

McCoy’s eyes narrowed as Jim uncharacteristically hesitated. “What?” he asked warily.

The suspicion made Jim smile again. “Oh nothing,” he answered breezily. “Just finding myself something new to play with.”

Before McCoy had time to react, Jim stepped forward and caught McCoy around the waist. McCoy tried to squirm free but Jim refused to let go, holding McCoy tightly as he tipped them both backwards, dragging McCoy with him as he fell back onto the couch.

“The hell do you think you’re doing? Let me go!” McCoy protested, scrabbling to get his knees under him.

“Wait,” Jim said breathlessly. “Just - wait.”

His arm was still looped around McCoy’s waist and McCoy froze as Jim tightened his grip. He tried to pull back and get a good look at Jim’s face, finding Jim watching him with wide eyes.

“Jim,” he started, losing the thread of the thought as Jim shifted his weight, settling McCoy more securely between the spread of his legs. “What’s going on?”

Jim searched his face, lifting his free hand to stroke McCoy’s cheek with his thumb. “Finding something better than that stupid ball?” he replied breezily.

“Like _hell_ ,” McCoy snapped, starting to struggle in earnest. “I’m not some _toy_ for you to-”

“Okay, okay! Bad choice of words!” Jim backpedaled, keeping a secure grip on McCoy as he tried to fight his way free. “I didn’t - will you _stop_ \- I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Then what the fuck did you mean?” McCoy demanded, nearly paralyzed at the thought of what Jim was pushing them towards. Sure, Starfleet hadn’t turned into the epic disaster McCoy had been half-expecting but that largely because of Jim. McCoy wouldn’t - couldn’t - do anything to risk that.

McCoy wasn’t blind. He’d wanted Jim since practically the day he’d met him. Wanting Jim was easy and expected and such a bad idea that he’d never seriously considered it. They both needed a friend far more than sex - Jim could get that anywhere and McCoy preferred to go without, at least for now. Besides, Jim meant more to him than that, ridiculous cliche that that was. He’d thought that was mutual.

“Hey,” Jim said gently. “Stop freaking out.”

McCoy just snorted. “Easy for you to say.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jim told him, eyes warm. “And it would be for you too, if you’d just stop panicking.”

He slid the hand on McCoy’s face around to the back of his neck, tugged him gently downwards. 

“Not asking you for anything other than your time, Bones,” Jim whispered in his ear as McCoy gave up and collapsed on him. “Just stay here, okay?”

The _with me_ went unspoken but McCoy heard it clearly.

“Aw, kid,” McCoy sighed tiredly. “You don’t want to do this.” 

If the way he grabbed a handful of Jim’s shirt and hung on contradicted his words, well, it was Jim’s own damn fault for pushing things this far.

“Why don’t you let me worry about what I want to do, huh?” Jim chided lightly and McCoy could hear the smile in his voice.

McCoy snorted again. “You never worry about anything,” he accused.

“And you worry too much,” Jim returned easily. “Between the two of us, we’ll figure it out. Trust me, would you?”

There was never any question of that. McCoy already did.

Jim took the relaxing of his muscles as the surrender it was and hummed in contentment, wrapping his arms around him.

“Finally,” he murmured against McCoy’s forehead.

It was the first time McCoy had felt warm all day.


	6. In The Public Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Carpet pics

No matter the century, no matter how advanced recording tech became, reporters were always a nuisance. No public event was safe, certainly not an international spectacle of this scale. McCoy winced away from a particularly bright flash, ignoring the frantic hail of questions being shrieked at them. He kept a careful hand at Uhura’s back, guiding her through the throng of guests and glaring off any reporters who got too aggressive. On his other side, Scott was looking a bit taken aback by the commotion.

“Quite the fuss!” he remarked brightly. “Though I still don’t see why you all needed me along. I had quite the evening planned with the-”

“Just remember the free booze,” McCoy cut in. He didn’t need to hear anything about Scott’s plans with the ship’s systems. The man’s enthusiasm for his work was admirable but occasionally disturbing.

“Oh yes. Well, all right then.”

Uhura shook her head at them in mock-despair. “We haven’t even gotten inside yet!” she chided. “Waste of your time or not, you should probably at least _pretend_ not to hate it for a little while longer.”

“Well, if the Captain and First Officer would see fit to get here, we could fix that first part,” McCoy grumbled. And then maybe he could get a damn drink. “Nice of Starfleet to insist we come along to the party so they could show us off and then refuse to let their star attractions out of meetings long enough to attend.”

A near-hysterical flurry of activity at the street end of the carpet told him that Jim’s timing was as perfect as ever.

“Speak of the devil!” Scotty said cheerfully, waving a hand at the two familiar forms cutting through the crowd.

McCoy was vaguely aware of Spock and Uhura exchanging their usual restrained greetings but his eyes were entirely for Jim, who wore a formal suit as well as he wore command gold. And knew it, the shameless bastard.

“Bones! Scotty!” Jim enthused as soon as he caught sight of them. “You both made it!”

“Well, you _did_ order us to attend, Captain.”

“And threatened each of us to make sure the other actually left the ship.”

“‘Threaten’ is such an ugly word,” Jim said expansively, flapping one hand to wave away the accusation. His free hand snaked around McCoy’s waist. “Maybe Uhura can offer some more appropriate suggestions?”

They shuffled their way along the length of the carpet towards the entrance to the gala, chatting along the way. (Uhura did, in fact, have a number of useful things to say to Jim.) They kept getting stopped in their progress by various other guests wanting to claim a moment of their time or make introductions or pose for endless photos.

It was in another of these pauses that Jim chuckled to himself, immediately rousing McCoy’s guard. He twisted in the loose embrace of Jim’s arm - slung comfortably around his waist again - to glare at him. “What are you up to now?”

Jim just grinned, slow and warm, and leaned forward until McCoy could feel his breath against his cheek.

“Hey Bones,” Jim said into his ear. “Want to see if we can make the front page again?”

He meant it to tease, McCoy knew. He was fully expecting a hissed refusal, maybe some scolding about being professional adults and on their best behaviour. McCoy wasn’t ashamed but while showing affection was one thing, putting on a show was another. But... They were back on Earth for the first time in ages, no one was shooting at them with anything more dangerous than a camera and Jim looked _goddamn amazing_ in that suit. Who gave a damn if people from the three top gossip rags were standing ten feet away and salivating at the sight of them?

McCoy leaned back into Jim, enjoying the way Jim’s breath caught at the unexpected response, tilting his head so that his lips nearly brushed Jim’s jaw when he replied. “You play attentive boyfriend tonight, fetch and carry _all_ of my many, many drinks and I’ll let you kiss me right here on the carpet.”

The smile on Jim’s face rivalled any of the storm of flashes that followed when he spun McCoy into his arms to take him up on his offer.


	7. The Fine Art of Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A particularly lovely black-and-white pic of Chris Pine

He really should have been expecting this, McCoy reflected as Jim flung himself into their room that evening. Midterms had just wrapped up, the campus was alive with cadets riding the post-exam wave of relief and Jim, of course, was determined to go make a night of it.

“Get up, get up!” he chivvied McCoy as soon as he found him lying sprawled on his bed. “We are _so_ going out tonight.”

“Jim, no,” McCoy complained. His schedule had been particularly brutal this past week and he’d been writing himself IOUs for a decent night’s sleep for about three days.

“Don’t even try to argue with me!” Jim instructed, already tugging at his uniform.

“What do you mean, try? I _am_ arguing with you!” McCoy snapped, rolling onto his back so he could glare at Jim without suffocating himself in his pillow. “Look, you go ahead and get out there, you deserve a night out. I just want to get some sleep.”

“You can get some sleep tomorrow. A few drinks will help you relax and help you sleep even better!” Jim retorted cheerfully. “I found this great place just before midterms started, you’re going to love it!”

“You keep telling me you’re some kind of genius, kid. So tell me, why do you find it so goddamn hard to understand the concept of _no_?” McCoy demanded.

“What was that last thing you said, Bones?” Jim asked brightly, cocking his head. “Sounded like, _let’s go_!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” McCoy sighed, draping an arm over his eyes.

“Come on, Bones,” Jim wheedled. McCoy could hear rustling as Jim changed, clearly ignoring all of his protests. “We’ll have fun. You remember fun, don’t you? That thing you do when you’re not moping or working or bitching? Come to think of it, you probably _don’t_ remember. So it’s high time we reminded you.”

So much for hoping that Jim would _finally_ take the hint, McCoy decided glumly. He let his arm fall to his side as he sat up, gearing up for another round of refusals. His words faded unspoken when he saw Jim standing in the centre of their room, half-dressed and quirking one of those almost-smiles at him.

Daily exposure should have given McCoy some immunity to Jim, it really should have. He knew most of the kid’s tricks, with the smiles and the _looks_ and the charm. He’d seen him drunk, sick, beaten up and mad as hell. He figured he ranked pretty high on the short list of people that Jim Kirk called “friend”. And somehow, it was never enough to mitigate the fact that Jim Kirk was utterly gorgeous.

Jim had apparently settled on dressing down tonight, was standing there in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt. He was rubbing at the back of his head, habitual cocky attitude muted as he considered his next move. Light reflected dully from the plain necklace lying against his chest, caught the bracelet on his left wrist. McCoy’s mouth went dry at the sight of Jim’s right hand tucked into the belt of his jeans, thumb absently rubbing his stomach. 

“Jesus, Jim,” he said, better sense knocked entirely offline. “Are you trying to give me a reason to go out or a reason to keep you here?”

There was a moment of startled silence, just long enough for McCoy to start panicking and for Jim’s almost-smile to spread into a wide, satisfied grin.

“Hold it right there!” McCoy barked, pointing a finger at Jim. He might not be anywhere near as unaffected by Jim’s appeal as he pretended but he’d never intended to let Jim know that. Kid was already far too smug for his own good.

“Are you _sure_ , Bones?” Jim was practically purring. “‘Cause suddenly I’m not getting the impression that you really want me to stay over here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” McCoy said through gritted teeth. He had to end this quickly or he’d be needing his pillow to hide how vigorously his body agreed with Jim, which would pretty strongly undermine his argument. “Finish getting pretty and get the hell out of here, would you?”

Jim considered him for a long moment, tapping a finger lightly against his lips. “No, I don’t think I will,” he finally decided.

“You’d better,” McCoy growled. “Because if you’re getting any ideas about-”

“I am not ‘getting any ideas’,” Jim interrupted, sidling over to the end of McCoy’s bed and claiming a seat. McCoy firmly ignored the way Jim’s shirt gaped open as he slouched on the mattress, sliding away from his chest. “I already _had_ those ideas. Lots of ideas, actually. I just didn’t think _you_ did.”

McCoy treated him to a highly skeptical glare, even as he tugged his legs out of reach. “You know, you don’t have to sleep with anyone who shows even the vaguest hint of interest.”

“That was more than just a vague hint, Bones,” Jim replied, still far too damn pleased with himself. “Besides, you’re not just anyone. And this is not just me being an opportunistic cockslut.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” McCoy managed, fighting off a snort of startled laughter at the frank admission. “So what is this?”

“This,” Jim told him, edging closer, “is me realizing that maybe I can have something I’ve wanted that I always thought was off-limits.”

Jim stopped moving when McCoy turned to stare at him, still impossibly beautiful and somehow improbably interested.

“Oh yeah?” he asked softly, searching Jim’s face and finding his answer in the warmth of Jim’s smile.

“Yeah,” Jim said simply. 

McCoy decided that a revelation of that magnitude warranted a few moments lost to grinning at each other like idiots.

“So,” Jim finally said, “I wanted you with me more than I wanted to go out. You don’t seem to mind my company but you don’t want to leave the room. I think we can reach a satisfactory compromise. Don’t you?”

McCoy held out a hand, gratified at the eagerness with which Jim clambered over the space between them to straddle his lap. 

“Yeah, Jim,” he breathed against his lips as he slid his hands under Jim's shirt. “ I think we can come to an agreement with those terms.


	8. Divine Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I seem to be missing a crew member, Highest One.”

“And so, Captain, you return to our court. Pray tell why you present yourself here once more,” purred the Goddess Queen, shifting to regard the figure who knelt at the foot of her dais.

On the plain seat at her left, the Lord Hierarch smiled at the lazy inquiry in his Exalted Lady’s voice. It was good that the offworld visitor amused the Goddess Queen; her happiness was his.

Below them, the captain lifted his head to answer. “I seem to be missing a crew member, Highest One,” he replied evenly.

The respect with which he addressed the Goddess Queen belied the insolence he displayed in meeting her eyes directly and mutters of disapproval rippled through the court until she lifted a quelling hand, mouth curving in an edged smile.

“How remiss of you to misplace him so,” she murmured, sliding a hand over to stroke the Lord Hierarch’s arm.

His body yearned for more of her touch but he forced himself to stillness, secure in the knowledge that his Exalted Lady would never be so careless as to mislay him. The gentle brush of her fingers was sufficient reminder that he was her Chosen.

“Yeah, well, he always did trust too easily.” The captain’s tone was light. “I plan to have words with him about that when I retrieve him.”

The Goddess Queen laughed airily. “Will you now?”

“With your permission to search, of course,” he added courteously, offering the Goddess Queen his own tight smile.

The Lord Hierarch stared curiously at this interloper who dared to challenge his Exalted Lady. It seemed almost a shame that he was an offworlder - he would be a handsome addition to the Goddess Queen’s own house. The Lord Hierarch thought he might enjoy working with such a man.

The Goddess Queen tapped a finger on the arm of her throne for a moment, her other arm wrapping tightly around the Lord Hierarch’s. He thrilled at the warmth of her body as she leaned into the strength of his arm.

“You have it,” she said at length, eyes narrowed as the captain climbed gracefully to his feet. “I wish you luck, finding your wayward man.”

For the first time, the captain looked over at the Lord Hierarch, surprising him with the fierce gleam in those blue eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he said confidently. “I intend to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure I managed to get my ideas across in this little comment snippet. I do hope so. But for those of you who are confused, the Lord Hierach looks like [THIS](http://images2.fanpop.com/images/photos/6600000/julius-caesar-karl-urban-6660926-800-1003.jpg). Jim is _not happy_ with a certain Goddess Queen.)


End file.
